


Watch Out!

by aggiepuff



Series: Soulmate Singles [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Arianne Martell is Tony Stark, DC inspired, Dead Rhaegar Targaryen, F/F, F/M, Guess which Hero Robb is based on, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, happily polyamorous Elia & Lyanna & Rhaegar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: It’s slow motion, the giant boulders of concrete and rebar falling from the sky, shards of glass showering the sidewalk like hail. She lifts up her hands, a futile effort, the concrete is going to crush her - “Watch out!”
Relationships: Elia Martell & Lyanna Stark & Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark, Robb Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Series: Soulmate Singles [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882498
Comments: 19
Kudos: 35





	Watch Out!

Dracarys smiles at her, white teeth flashing, purple eyes dancing. Curadora glares at her sister. “Would you stop that?”

She laughs, throwing her balls of fire higher, juggling eight of them as if it’s nothing. A crowd gathers, taking in the sight. It’s not often superheroes put on a show for the populace that doesn’t involve the risk of injury or death.

Then Silver steps up and begins to dance, twisting water around his lithe form, firelight glinting off the stream as it twines around his body. 

Curadora sighs, sitting back. Her siblings are such show offs. It would drive her crazy if their family didn’t need the good press. After the Dragon went mad and tried to burn down the city, the Iron Kings have needed an image overhaul. It’s good that Dracarys and Silver are so personable - even if they make her worry.

Dracarys tosses the fireballs high and they explode, showering the sky with colorful sparks as the crowd oohs and awes. A little boy darts forward, holding a pen and paper, and begs Dracarys for an autograph. A group of blushing teenage girls send coquettish looks at Silver. No one spares a glance for Curadora, the unexciting Iron King, the healer who doesn't charge face first into danger.

Curadora prefers it that way. No one to bother her, no asking for anything. No one to talk to...

In the safety of her home, Curadora removes her mask, setting aside the purple kevlar composite, and Rhaenys Martell-Targaryen steps through the hidden door in the fireplace, the stone scraping closed behind her. Daenerys, having ditched the red of Dracarys, darts past her, running to grab her phone off the kitchen table.

"Get a text from horse boy?" Rhaenys teases.

Daenerys rolls her eyes, ignoring the heckling and heading upstairs. Aegon, wearing jeans instead of Silver's blue, comes up behind Rhaenys. "Go straight for her phone?"

"Yep, but you still owe me a gold dragon. She went a whole night's patrol without it."

Aegon scowls but hands over the coin. Rhaenys pockets it with a smile. 

"Welcome home, _mijos_ ," Elia says with a smile. "How was patrol?"

"Completely uneventful," Aegon answers.

Elia nods. She's a tall woman, with thick, curling black hair, deep brown eyes, strong nose, and full lips. Unlike her four children, she has no superpowers. Regardless, she ixes them with a stern enough look that Aegon shifts away. "Homework done?"

"Yeah," he answers.

"Good. Now go upstairs to bed. You've got school in the morning."

Aegon sighs but doesn't argue, following Daenerys up the stairs. 

"What about you?" Elia asks, following Rhaenys as she heads into the kitchen in search of a snack.

Rhaenys shrugs. "I'm off work for the next two days so I’ll probably do absolutely nothing.”

Elia smiles. “Ah, the glories of the weekend.”

Rhaenys nods. “Exactly.”

* * *

_Ah the glories of the weekend_ , Curadora thinks viciously as she presses her hands against the gash splitting the man’s stomach. A soft golden glow emanates from beneath her palms as first responders rush all around her, pulling people from the rubble. 

The man’s skin knits together, enough that he will not die, and she passes him off to an EMT, moving to the next person, a little boy with a broken arm. She checks him over with her power, cataloguing his injuries. Nothing life threatening. She motions for another EMT to take him. 

On and on it goes while the villainous Breakneck Gang decimates the city skyline. Dracarys and Silver are out there somewhere, occupying the lesser hitters, but Grey Wind has their Big Boss, Widowmaker. 

Not for the first time, Curadora is grateful Grey Wind inexplicably relocated to King’s Landing. Though not an official member of the Iron Kings, he’s the heavy hitter they were missing after the Red Prince died killing the Dragon, using his superstrength, invulnerability and flight to thoroughly trounce supervillains Dracarys and Silver can only harry. 

Concrete rumbles above her head. 

Curadora looks up.

Pieces of the building above her crumble.

It’s slow motion, the giant boulders of concrete and rebar falling from the sky, shards of glass showering the sidewalk like hail. She lifts up her hands, a futile effort, the concrete is going to crush her - “Watch out!”

Something like a battering ram hits her from the side, knocking the breath from her lungs. A steel band wraps around her torso. Her hair whips around her face as she flies through the air. The world twists beneath her.

She lands with a pained _oof!_ on something both squishy and hard. 

“Sorry,” that same voice says. 

She looks around. Grey Wind peers up at her. She's sprawled across his chest. His arm is the iron band around her middle, his large, warm hand splayed across her back. 

Curadora blinks. Unlike every other superhero she knows, Grey Wind doesn’t wear a mask. His eyes are a stunning blue gray, with a strong jaw and pale skin the color of snow. His mouth is rosebud pink, bottom lip fuller than the upper in an unbelievably attractive pout. The whole appealing picture is topped by auburn curls. 

Viserys’ frantic voice shouts in her head, using his telepathy, demanding to know if she’s alright. 

A slow smile spreads across Grey Wind's face.

 _I’m fine!_ she shouts back. _Focus!_

Viserys’ voice quiets in her head and she scrambles to her feet. "Thanks," she tells Grey Wind.

Grey Wind props up onto his elbows, still looking up at her. "I don't think we've been officially introduced."

Curadora looks around. The Breakneck Gang is still reeking havoc across the city. She can hear Painmaker shouting insults at Dracarys a block away. "Is now the best time?"

He laughs ruefully and stands, brushing dust and rubble from his clothes. "No, guess not. Can I at least get a name?"

"Curadora," she answers because it's the polite thing to do and because she likes his smile.

"You can call me Grey," he says. Then, he pushes off from the ground and hovers for a moment just above her. "See you around, Dora."

"It's _Curadora_!" She shouts but he's already gone, speeding across the blue sky to rejoin the fray.

Curadora rolls her eyes and trots back to the EMTs and emergency vehicles ranging around the edge of the fighting. Cute as Grey Wind may be, she has more important things to worry about.

 _You’re sure you’re alright?_ Viserys’ voice echoes in her head. It always feels a little strange to have him there but, as their telepath, he’s a noncombatant like her and instead keeps them all linked during fights, using (illegally accessed) street cameras and other things to guide them to where they can do the most good. 

_A little sore,_ she answers honestly because there is no lying to a guy who can read her mind, _but I’ll be fine. Focus on helping Dany and Eggy._

Hours later she collapses into the tiny backseat of the stupid, gizmo riddled sportscar Silver and Dracarys spent 3 years’ worth of allowances to have custom made by Arianne Martell, tech genius and premier inventor of Westeros. Arianne, being their cousin, knocked a little off the price but they still weren’t able to buy a decently sized backseat. 

“Hey,” Silver says, shutting the passenger side door, “you alright?”

Curadora groans. Her body _aches_. For every broken bone, pierced lung, cracked skull, and cut artery she heals, a shadow of that pain echoes through her body. Over time, it builds up and it takes hours for the ache to go away. The residual, almost crippling pain is why she dropped out of med school and chose not to pursue a career as an EMT. She does what she can when she can but one day Curadora knows she will encounter an injury that will kill her if she tries to heal it.

Dracarys, in the driver's seat, twists around to pat her calf sympathetically before revving up the engine and zooming off into the night. By the time they reach Dragon's Cliffs and the hidden entrance to their family's lair, she's half asleep and stumbles slightly as she changes clothes, bleary eyed and too exhausted to really look herself over for potential injuries. The portal leading to the secret tunnels below the family's King's Landing estate on the south side of the city - another of Arianne's technological marvels - glows faintly purple as she steps through.

Waiting for her in the tunnel is a sight for sore eyes. Viserys catches her as she collapses gratefully into his arms.

Technically, Viserys Targaryen is Rhaenys' uncle on her father's side but he always acts more like an older brother. With Daenerys and Aegon she is the strong one, always looking out for them, but with Viserys she can relax. 

Without a word, Viserys loops one of her arms over his shoulders and let's her lean on him as they make their way up the winding stone steps and through the secret entrance behind the marble mantle in the living room.

As they're making their way upstairs Rhaenys accidentally bumps into the bannister. She gasps in pain, as something far more solid than a phantom ache flashes across her ribs.

Viserys tightens his grip as her knees start to buckle. Reaching out telepathically, he asks, _What's wrong?_

Rhaenys, distracted by the pain, doesn't hear, but he sees where her focus is and starts up the stairs again. "Come on," he says aloud, "let's get up to your room and I'll take a look."

She grunts in response.

Her room is at the end of the hall to the left of the second floor landing. Once inside, Visery helps her carefully lift her oversized sweater over her head. Dressed only in a sports bra she should feel exposed but Viserys, in addition to being their telepath, is the family medic, having gotten his EMT certification for when one of them is hurt and Rhaenys is out of commission for whatever reason. She waits patiently, arm half raised, as he comes around to her left, purple eyes critically examining her torso.

He freezes. "Um, Rhae?"

She looks around. Viserys stares at her side, gaze focused just below the band of her sports bra. "What's wrong?"

"You'd better look in the mirror," he says.

Trepidation rises in her stomach. Does she have a rib poking out of her side? Are the bruises especially bad? Is she bleeding out without realizing? Sometimes her power does that, keeps her from feeling pain.

Gingerly, she stands, going to the closet door and opening it to the full length mirror hanging on the back. Her purple eyes, far darker than Viserys', scan her face first out of habit: brown skin, strong nose, full lips, thick curly black hair. She scans down, taking in defined muscles unmarred by bruise or cut until she finally sees her torso and the brand new Soulmark across her skin.

"Holy shit."

The Mark reminds her of the snowstorm from her family's vacation when she was thirteen, all silver blue swirls woven through intricate snowflakes. It wraps around her torso in a band that widens to cover her whole left side from armpit to hip.

"Yeah," Viserys agrees. 

"That wasn't there this morning!"

"I would hope not or I'd be offended you didn't tell me immediately."

Rhaenys rounds on him. "But how?"

"Obviously your Soulmate touched you," he snarks.

"Obviously," she snaps. 

"Hey, Vis?" Daenerys yells from down the hall.

"In Rhae’s room!" Viserys calls back. "Dany, you need to see this."

Daenerys enters Rhaenys' room, a frown on her pretty face. "What do I need to - _woah_."

Rhaenys ignores Daenerys, a sudden, terrible thought blossoming in her head. "Vis," she says, "come here."

Too focused on her Mark to argue, Viserys obeys, stepping up then letting Rhaenys manhandle him so his arm falls roughly where her Mark is, the front of his chest aligned with her side. She swallows hard. It all makes too much sense.

"Um, Rhae, what are you doing?" Daenerys asks.

Rhaenys ignores her. "If you were diving to push me out of the way, is this how you'd grab me?" Rhaenys asks Viserys. "Your shoulder hitting at my waist and your arm around my stomach?"

Viserys' eyes narrow. "You know who it is."

Rhaenys bites her lip. "I have an idea."

"Are we going to like this idea?" Daenerys asks.

"Maybe?" Rhaenys grabs her shirt and tugs it on. "I need to go find him first."

"You're not finding him tonight," Viserys declares, planting himself between Rhaenys and the door.

"Vis -"

"No," Daenerys cuts her off, "he's right. You can barely stand as is. You need to rest. You'll feel better in the morning and then you can go find whoever he is."

"But -"

"Don't make me get Aunt Elia." Viserys fixes her with cold purple eyes.

Rhaenys bites her lip. If they get Elia then her mom will see how much pain she's in. She'll make Rhaenys take at least a week off from superheroing. Curadora might not be a fighter but the people of King's Landing depend on her to help in a crisis. She can't be out of commission for a week.

With a sigh, she nods. "Alright. I can wait to go find him til tomorrow."

"You can also wait until I make sure nothing is broken," Viserys says. He points to her large circular bed piled high with a wide assortment of soft pillows. "Sit."

Rhaenys rolls her eyes but obeys. "Do I have to take my shirt off again?"

Viserys shakes his head. "You can lift your arms above your head which is a good sign. Dany, come hold her shirt up."

As Daenerys pulls up the hem of her shirt, Viserys gently presses his fingertips along Rhaenys' ribs. Thankfully, her ability to heal extends somewhat to her own body. Her healing isn't excelirated to mere moments like when she uses her power on others, but bruises only take a day, no matter how deep, and broken bones take three days max instead of six weeks.

His inspection done, Viserys pulls back. "Nothing broken," he says. "It wouldn't hurt to ice the bruise a bit but you'll be fine. Your Soulmate didn't leave any permanent damage."

Daenerys beams. "Good." She releases Rhaenys' shirt and jerks her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the door. "We're having a princess movie marathon in the media room. You can have first pick."

Rhaenys smiles and allows Daenerys to lead her to the media room with it's wonderfully cushy couches and chairs, more blankets and pillows than she can count, and a projector.

Because she loves the classics, Rhaenys picks _Aladdin_ . Aegon, already slouched across the sectional couch, tries to argue _Aladdin_ isn't a real princess movie. 

Daenerys whacks him on the back of the head. “Rhae picks. She’s had a big day. Now move.”

“We’ve all had a big day,” Aegon grumbles even as he moves so Rhaenys can take the corner seat. Rhaenys sticks her tongue out at him and knows he would protest - loudly - if he didn't see the bone weary way she moves. She ends up propping her feet up on his lap, her back against the couch with Daenerys' head on her thigh.

“Not like Rhae’s,” Viserys informs the youngest Martell-Targaryen as he settles on the other end of the couch from Daenerys. 

Aegon turns to squint at her. “Huh?”

Rhaenys grins, flashing straight white teeth. “Soulmark.”

His jaw drops. “Shut the front door.”

“No lie,” Daenerys laughs. “It looks like a blizzard and she’s not sure who he is but she has an idea.”

“How could you not tell me?” Aegon demands.

“I didn’t see it until maybe five minutes ago! Vis had to point it out.”

“Is it small?” Aegon teases, a wicked gleam in his dark purple eyes. 

“Don’t get into a size contest, Eggy,” Rhaenys replies, “you’ll lose.”

He gags. “Ugh, Rhae, I did not need to think about that.”

“You started it!”

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut up?” Daenerys demands. “The movie is starting!” 

Viserys dims the light with the remote and Rhaenys settles into the cushions. Before the merchant is done trying to sell the lamp her head is back, her breathing deep and even as exhaustion overtakes her.

* * *

A hazy fog covers King’s Landing when she goes to start her car the next morning. A compact SUV, the car is at least ten years old, not exactly the kind of car a multimillion dollar heiress is expected to drive. Rhaneys prefers it that way. A little anonymity never hurt anyone. 

“Don’t forget to be back for dinner!” Elia calls as she opens the car door. 

Rhaenys stops, frowning. She turns to her mother. “Why?”

Elia sits up from messing around in her herb garden. “Lyanna and Jon are coming."

Rhaenys’ eyebrows rise. “Lyanna and Jon?”

Jon is her half-brother, Lyanna his mother. Up until last year, Lyanna, Elia, and Rhaenys’ father Rhaegar were a polyamorous triad. But then Rhaegar, known to the public as the Red Prince, was forced to kill his father, Aegon, aka the Dragon, when the old man went mad and killed Lyanna’s father and oldest brother. 

Somewhere between Lyanna losing her father and a brother and Rhaegar dying something cracked between Lyanna and Elia. Those months after the bloodbath were the worst. Elia and Lyanna constantly fighting, Grandma Rhaella finally succumbing to her cancer, Jon getting quieter and quieter. 

Rhaenys misses her brother and she misses Lyanna. She knows Aegon does, too. Even Daenerys, who fights with Jon like cats and dogs, misses him and their names can't be mentioned without Viserys' eyes filling with tears. 

“Yes, Lyanna and Jon,” Elia answers. “So you’ll be home for dinner?”

“Of course I will. See you later.” She waves goodbye and climbs in the car.

As she drives into King’s Landing she doesn’t bother keeping the smile from her face. Gods, it would be good to have Lyanna and Jon back. The Targaryen Mansion doesn’t feel quite like home without all three of her parents. She knows she can’t get her father back but having her Wolf-Mother and baby brother home would be like Yule, her birthday, and every other holiday all rolled up into one.

She parks three blocks from the site of the fight from yesterday. Clean up crews are hard at work clearing the aftermath so Rhaenys works her way through a back alley until she’s where Grey Wind landed after saving her from the falling concrete. 

It’s a nondescript stretch of asphalt far enough away from the carnage that they wouldn’t get crushed. She starts at one end, working a grid pattern as best she can. 

“Looking for something?” someone calls.

Rhaenys glances up. A young man of middling height with square black glasses, dark curly hair and blue eyes watches her from the other side of the street. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders slouching. 

“No, not really,” she answers, going back to examining the ground.

“You sure?” he asks.

Rhaenys glances at him again. He’s closer now, eyeing her curiously. “Yeah, I”m sure.”

“I’m just saying, it looks like you’re looking for something.”

She sighs, abandoning her search; there’s nothing there, not even a conveniently abandoned driver’s license. “Can I help you?”

The man gives her a boyish grin. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He pulls out a card and a notepad. He passes her the card. “My name is Robb. I’m an investigative reporter with _The Daily Planet_.”

Rhaenys takes the card. “I know _The Planet_. Your new crosswords guy sucks.”

Robb laughs. “Yeah, Jaime is a great guy but not the best with words. He’s getting moved to photography at the end of the week though.”

“Good,” Rhaenys tucks the card into her back pocket, “I was getting bored.”

His blue eyes glance over her figure. “Well I’d hate for that to happen.”

Rhaenys crosses her arms over her chest. “You said there was something you wanted?”

Robb gestures to the destruction down the street. “Were you around here yesterday?”

“Why?”

“Trying to get an aftermath piece written up for the evening edition,” he answers. “So? Were you around yesterday? Is that why you’re looking for something?”

Rhaenys sighs. “Yeah, I was around but way before all the fighting. I lost an earring and I thought it might still be here.”

Yes, she lied. She’s a superhero not a saint.

Robb raises an eyebrow, blue eyes taking in the debris. 

“Longshot, I know, but…” She smiles ruefully and shrugs.

“Well,” Robb says, “can I get a comment anyway? As someone who didn’t see the fighting but is living in the aftermath?”

Rhaenys considers. “Only if you don’t use my name.”

“Don’t want your five minutes of fame?”

“I’ve never been one for fame.”

“Fair.” He opens his notebook and pulls a short pencil from behind his ear. His blue eyes sparkly behind his glasses and Rhaenys’ stomach twists. “So, your quote?”

“You use my name and I will make your life a living hell.”

“You promise?”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. Robb laughs. “I won’t use your name,” he promises. "You haven't even told it to me."

“Alright,” Rhaenys laughs. “My quote is this: ‘D.A. Renly Baratheon is a dumbass. The Breakneck Gang was on trial last year, every member except their leader Joffrey _Baratheon._ D.A. Baratheon threw the case after being pressured by his older brother and nephew.”

Robb’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Really?”

Rhaenys nods. “Yeah. The reason no one’s said anything is because all the journalists either got paid off or bullied into keeping their mouths shut. The only reason the BNG was not in jail and able to destroy half the city yesterday is because the Baratheons are the most corrupt family to ever hold power in King’s Landing.”

“Even more corrupt than the Targaryens?”

Hearing her family’s name from a stranger doesn’t phase her like it used to. Instead, she shrugs. “The Targaryens were bad,” she admits, having accepted the faults of her ancestors long ago, “but they were honest about it. The Baratheons hide their corruption behind friendly smiles and fraudulent promises. Their poison spreads in the shadows and there is no defending against it until someone brings it to the light which no one will for fear or greed.”

“Then why don’t you?” Robb asks. 

Rhaenys’ mouth twitches. “I'm not a reporter and I've got too many of my own problems to be solving everyone else's. You should try out _KL On the DL._ It’s a blog, completely anonymous, but it's got some really interesting commentary on the city.”

“I’ll have to check it out.” 

“You do that. Well,” she flips her hair over her shoulder, “my earring isn’t here so I’d better get going.”

“Without ever telling me your name?”

Rhaenys shakes her head. “Nope. That way you won’t be tempted to use it in your article.”

His laughter follows Rhaenys back to her car and she shuts the door to the sound with a smile. So she didn’t find Grey Wind but she probably just met a new friend. She’d just have to read his article to see if he could be bought or bullied.

Rhaenys fiddles with her tablet, pulling up _The Daily Planet_ ’s website. The search function lets her look by author so she pulls out Robb’s business card. 

The doorbell chimes and Aegon thunders down the stairs. "They're here!"

"Get the door!" Elia calls. 

"On it!" Aegon races to the door, yanking it open.

Rhaenys sets aside her tablet, eager to see Lyanna.

Aegon opens the front door as she enters the foyer. Lyanna and Jon stand on the porch, smiling to see Aegon and Rhaenys.

"Jonny!" Aegon shouts, launching himself at their brother.

The idiots hug each other for several long minutes. Rhaenys rolls her eyes, going to Lyanna. "Hey, Mom," she says, hugging her tight.

Lyanna squeezes her back. "Hey, sweetheart. How have you been?"

Her Wolf-Mother smells like gardenias and Rhaenys breathes in deep. “I’ve been good. Work isn’t terrible but people are their general stupid selves.”

Lyanna laughs. “People really are the worst.”

“Come on. Mamá made paella.”

“Ooh,” Lyanna croons, following her to the kitchen, “I love your mom’s paella.”

“That’s why I made it,” Elia says.

If Rhaenys hadn’t sat on the bed watching as Elia fussed over what to wear she never would have guessed at her mamá’s nerves. Elia smiles, bright as sunshine, at Lyanna then turns and welcomes Jon’s exuberant hug. 

“Missed you, Mamá,” Jon whispers. 

“ _Yo tambien, hijo,”_ Elia says into his dark, curly hair. 

Rhaenys pretends not to see the longing in Lyanna’s eyes as she watches Elia with Jon. Instead, she helps Daenerys finish setting the table. The delicious aroma of paella fills the kitchen and Aegon places it on the table while Elia instructs Jon to fill the glasses with water.

"Where's Vis?" Lyanna asks.

"Upstairs," Daenerys answers. "Hi, Aunt Lya."

Lyanna grins, wrapping an arm around Daenerys' shoulders. "Hey, Dany. My, your hair has gotten long."

Daenerys beams. "I've been trying this new shampoo. It's supposed to make your hair blonder, longer, and stronger."

"Ask her why she cares all of a sudden," Rhaenys calls.

Lyanna's eyebrows rise.

Red spreads across Daenerys face and Rhaenys laughs. She abandons her to Lyanna and Elia, going in search of Viserys. 

Rhaenys finds Viserys on the second floor of the library, sorting through the new books he had delivered the day before. 

"Hey," she says, "Lyanna and Jon are here."

Viserys looks up. To be honest, Rhaenys is a little surprised Viserys wasn't the one to run and open the door. He and Lyanna are - _were?_ \- close. Rhaenys remembers distinctly walking in on Lyanna coaching him on asking out his first girlfriend when he was in high school. She also caught him crying the day Lyanna and Jon moved out, not that she would tell anyone. 

Rhaenys suspects their closeness comes from having similar abilities, Viserys being a telepath and Lyanna having psychometry wherein she knows the full history of an object or person through touch. It was Lyanna who first realized Viserys' power and then taught him how to process so much at once. Without her, Rhaenys is sure Viserys would have gone mad long ago.

"I know they're here," Viserys informs her stiffly.

"Mamá says dinner is ready."

Viserys' eyes narrow. "No she didn't."

_Fucking telepath._

"You should come down and hang out," Rhaenys tries.

"Why?"

"Because Mom and Jon don't visit that often."

Viserys slams his book shut. "And whose fault is that?"

"That's not fair!"

"Isn't it?" He demands, whirling on his heel and furiously shoving the books into the shelves. “They left, Rhae. They don’t get to just - to just -”

“To just what?”

“Waltz in and out like nothing’s wrong!” He slams a book, the sound echoing in the quiet library.

Elia’s voice floats up the stairs. “Everything okay up there?”

“We’re fine!” Rhaenys calls back before focusing on Viserys. “Look,” she says, “you’re not the only one this is hard for, okay? But they’re trying. They went to coffee last week. After everything, they needed space but they’re trying to work it out. The least we can do is support them. It’s not like their split means they don’t love us. I know for a fact Mom has been trying to reach out. Jon says she’s called you once a week for the past three months.”

Viserys’ glare softens. “I didn’t know. I blocked her number when she first left. I was so angry.”

“Well, I suggest you unblock it and come to dinner. Everyone else is already downstairs and it wouldn’t be family dinner without you.”

Viserys sighs but follows her down the stairs to the dining room. In an effort to make Lyanna and Jon feel special, Elia had instructed Daenerys to set the table with the good plates and silverware. She even pulled a bottle of Dornish red wine from the cellar. 

Lyanna straightens a little when Viserys enters. The seat beside her is empty and she glances anxiously between him and the chair. Viserys, always able to take a hint, bites his lip but takes the chair without a roll of his eyes which Rhaenys takes as progress. 

The other chair next to Jon, and across from Daenerys, is empty so Rhaenys takes it. Chatter flows over her as she settles in. 

Jon nudges her in the ribs and she shoots him a grin. “ _¿Como está?”_

 _“Estoy bien. ¿Y tú?_ ”

Jon shrugs. “I’ve been alright.”

“How’s school going?”

“C’mon, Rhae,” Jon groans. “It’s Saturday. I don’t wanna talk about school.”

“Don’t care.” Rhaenys swallows a bite of paella. “Egs says you got a part in the summer musical. When do you start selling tickets?”

Jon rolls his eyes. At two years younger than Aegon, he’s five years younger than Rhaenys and the same age as Daenerys. With dark curly hair, snow pale skin, and piercing hazel eyes, he’s probably the prettiest sixteen-year-old boy Rhaenys has ever seen, besides Aegon. Her brothers must get it from their father. 

“Tickets go on sale next month,” Daenerys answers helpfully. Her amethyst eyes glitter across the table and Jon glares at her. 

_Cats and dogs,_ Rhaenys thinks with a grin. 

“Obviously we’re all coming to your big debut,” Aegon tells Jon with a grin as wicked as Daenerys’.

Rhae giggles at Jon’s beat red face. Movement at the corner of her eye catches her attention. Lyanna’s hand sits on the table near her wine glass. Elia’s hand rests barely an inch from it, pinky twitching closer.

Hope rises in Rhaenys’ chest, barely a whisp but it's there. 

* * *

For three months Rhaenys searches high and low for Grey Wind but there is not a trace. In the meantime, Lyanna returns to Winterfell a month after their family dinner, leaving Jon to live with the Martell-Targaryens for two months while she handles family affairs in The North. Rhaenys isn’t quite sure what’s going on but she’s not particularly interested. With Jon back in the house things are almost back to normal. 

Unfortunately, that also means she’s back to sharing her bathroom with Daenerys, who hogs the shower as if she’s trying to drown herself. 

“¡ _Lo juro por la Madre de Rhoyne!_ ” Rhaenys shouts, pounding on the closed bathroom door. 

“Oh my gods,” Daenerys snaps, yanking the door open. “Calm down, Rhae.”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Rhaenys snarls, pushing past her into the bathroom. They have exactly one hour to get dressed for the bloody fundraiser and Daenerys is only now letting her into the bathroom to take shower. 

Daenerys rolls her eyes and Rhaenys slams the door on her face. Thankfully, the Targaryen Mansion has an almost endless supply of hot water so steam soon fills the room. She quickly finishes with her hair before moving on to bodywash.

She runs the luffa along her ribs, trying to ignore the snowstorm across her skin. _Fucking Grey Wind._ Frustration bubbles in her chest and she finishes her shower quickly. 

[ The dress ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/de/08/ee/de08ee75f047a253a5c561ba4d695397.jpg) she chose for tonight’s fundraiser favors the style preferred by her Grandmother Rhaella. Rhaenys had it made using a pattern for one of Rhaella’s old dresses and she loves it. Blood red and strapless, the neckline is like a fan with a form hugging mermaid silhouette. More fabric creates a sash, the tails laying against her thigh. A large sparkling silver sprig sits at her waist, drawing the eye to her slim figure. With red lipstick and Rhaella's diamonds at her ears and throat, Rhaenys feels ready to attend King’s Landing’s Winter Fundraiser for the Arts. 

Daenerys meets her at the bottom of the stairs [ dressed all in white ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/37/1f/42/371f421ad201f1e3aef6d401ec8ad31f.jpg), holding a red satin clutch, red satin heels peaking from the hem of her skirt. She grins at Rhaenys with a bright red mouth, taking in her dress. “Gorgeous.”

With that simple word, all of Rhaenys’ earlier irritation with Daenerys melts away. “Thanks.” She reaches out and slightly rearranges a curl of silver-blonde hair. How she manages those [ intricate braids ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/dc/24/a0/dc24a0d825547658eaad01a9368d298e.jpg) Rhaenys will never know. “You too.”

“Where’s Aunt Elia?”

“She’s coming,” Aegon answers as he comes down the steps. Unlike Rhaenys, he has chosen the [ traditional Dornish attire ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/72/c2/89/72c289be63982be161b01961fdcbdf7e.jpg) he loves: a pale gold sherwani decorated with dark gold buttons down the front and a red dupatta trimmed in gold that matches his tight fitting churidar pants. Viserys follows him, wearing a [ Westerosi-style suit ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b4/67/7e/b4677ec1b1dfc1b2f64c3f434cc715ee.jpg) in full Targaryen red and black, a striking contrast to his silver-blond hair and pale skin.

“And Jon?” Daenerys asks, going to straighten her brother’s tie. Viserys endures her fussing with a roll of his eyes. 

“Here!” Jon trots down the steps, straightening the cuffs of his [ black suit ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1f/72/d4/1f72d412071e2ccb2c00b32b082155f5.jpg). Unlike most sixteen-year-olds, Jon knows how to pick a suit. His silk dress shirt is soft red, matching his pocket square, and bringing color back to his pale face. 

“Well don’t you all look wonderful.” Elia’s warm voice comes from the top of the stairs and they all turn as one. 

Rhaenys’ smile stretches across her mouth almost painfully wide. Elia Martell-Targaryen was born a Dornish Princess, a daughter of House Martell whose ancestors took back their kingdom after the Dynastic Fall almost five hundred years ago, when most Great Houses were attempting to kill each other off. She came to King’s Landing for university and married Rhaegar Targaryen, the eldest son of the powerful Targaryen family whose ancestors once ruled all of Westeros. 

Over the years, Elia molded herself to fit the Westerosi image. She stopped wearing so much jewelry and removed the piercing from her nose. Rhaenys knows Rhaegar tried to convince her to wear more Dornish styles but Elia always resisted, claiming she wanted to fit in with the other Westerosi ladies. 

But now, Elia descends the stairs in [ full Dornish regalia ](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2f/51/db/2f51dbc9c44ab50a28759c9ca43ad919.jpg), wrapped in a stunning red and gold silk saree, gold bangles clinking on her wrists and thick gold collar at her neck. A small gold nose ring is linked to gold ornaments in her hair by a gold chain, small gold bells chiming gently from her ears. 

“Oh, Mamá,” Rhaenys breaths.

“You look amazing, Elia,” Viserys tells her. 

Elia’s cheeks darken and she ducks her head. “Well,” she says, “Rhaegar always said I should wear Dornish styles to these things. I finally decided to listen to him.”

Rhaenys smiles sadly. Tonight is the first formal event the Targaryen clan has attended since the deaths of Aegon, Rhaegar, and Rhaella. It’s why they all chose to wear red in some form, Rhaenys suspects. 

Elia looks around, examining them with black eyes. “We’re all ready?” 

“Ready, Mamá,” Jon answers. 

“Good.” Elia lifts her chin and sweeps from the house, leading them like ducklings to the limo waiting in the driveway. 

The driver holds the door open as they all slide in. The drive to the Red Keep Museum is quiet, each lost in their own worlds as they mentally prepare for the onslaught of reporters and paparazzi. Cameras flash outside as the limo pulls to a stop in front of the ancient red castle on the highest hill of King’s Landing. 

Rhaenys takes a deep breath.

“Ready?” Elia asks.

They nod.

The driver pulls the door open and the roar of the crowd almost drowns Rhaenys’ senses. With the poise of a queen of old, Elia straightens her spine and steps onto the red carpet. The crowd grows exponentially louder as word travels up the gauntlet that the Targaryen family, conspicuously absent in recent months, has arrived. 

Viserys follows Elia, turning back to help Daenerys then Rhaenys. Aegon and Jon bring up the rear and the driver closes the door behind them, shutting off their escape. Rhaenys pastes her best princess smile on her mouth and, like her mother, straightens her spine. 

Thankfully, Elia has already told them she doesn’t want to make any statements to the press so they walk the red carpet to the Red Keep in silence, smiling and nodding as people call their names but not stopping until they’re inside the cavernous marble foyer. Ushers guide them to the great hall of the museum that once served as the Targaryen’s throne room.

Rhaenys eyes the tall dais at the far end of the hall where the molten remains of the Iron Throne are encased in bullet proof glass, then deliberately turns her back on it. Beside her, Daenerys does the same. “Where’s the wine?” she asks.

“No drinking for you, Miss Underage,” Rhaenys informs her, taking a glass of Arbour gold from a passing waiter.

Daenerys pouts. “Come on, Rhae.”

“ _No_ , Dany. At home is one thing, but not here.”

Daenerys sighs but doesn’t argue. Across the hall she spots her friend Missandei, the daughter of the Summer Isles Ambassador, and makes a beeline for the taller black girl, leaving Rhaenys to find her own way through the crowd. 

Dignitaries from around the world rub elbows with the public officials of King’s Landing, the capital and country’s elite all gathered in one place; Rhaenys even spots Archie Yronwood, son of the Dornish Ambassador, chatting animatedly with Aegon and Jon about something, probably comic books, the nerds.

“A lovely night for a party,” a warm masculine voice comments beside her.

Rhaenys turns her head, prepared to engage in idle small talk, only to have the smile fall from her face. Chief District Attorney Renly Baratheon smiles at her, a glass of Arbour gold in his hand. He’s dressed in a suit of pale blue hemmed in striking black, the bronze stag of House Baratheon pinned to his lapel. It’s a good suit but the man in it has the morals of a mosquito . 

“It was,” Rhaenys comments, taking a sip of wine, “until you showed up.”

“Now, Ms. Targaryen,” Renly protests. 

“Go fuck your Tyrell lobbyist, Baratheon,” Rhaenys snaps. Since her first meeting with Grey Wind the Breakneck Gang has attempted to rob two banks, a diamond store, and an army base. The army base Rhaenys wasn’t particularly miffed about, the army could handle itself, but Curadora had to bring one of the diamond store’s security guards back from the brink of death. One minute later and the woman would have died. Rhaenys lays the blame squarely at Renly Baratheon’s feet. What she wouldn’t give to punch him in his smug face. 

“Mr. Baratheon,” a new voice says, “if I might have a quote?”

Rhaenys’ eyebrows rise in surprise at the familiar voice. She turns, dark hair swishing across her back, to see the reporter from the alleyway, whose name she couldn’t remember and whose card she lost, smiling at Renly. How a reporter got past the security she doesn’t know but she’s grateful for anything that gets her away from D.A. Fuckface.

Renly scowls at the man. “Mr. Stark, to what do I owe the displeasure?”

_Stark?_

Rhaenys watches curiously as Mr. Stark flashes a smile at Renly. “I just have a few questions, Mr. Baratheon.”

“Don’t you ever give it a rest? This is a fundraiser for the city. Act like the son of House Stark you supposedly are.”

She watches in avid fascination as Mr. Stark, instead of being offended, simply smiles. "I'm sorry you were unhappy with my article, Mr. Baratheon, but I was only reporting what people were saying."

"You realize I could sue your for slander?"

"I think you mean libel," Rhaenys comments, using her wineglass to hide her smile.

Mr. Stark smiles at her with strong white teeth and dancing blue eyes behind black rimmed glasses, then seems to do a double take. His eyebrows rise, taking in her gown, diamonds, and perfectly curled black hair.

"Whatever," Renly snaps, not seeming to notice Mr. Stark's distraction. "Just give me the name of your witness and you'll be safe."

"Safe from what?" Rhaenys asks, a sneaking suspicion wriggling at the back of her mind.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Renly says.

"Has someone actually been printing the truth about you, Baratheon? Did they mention that you're sleeping with the Tyrell lobbyist, you're bought by Olenna Tyrell, your brothers make all of your decisions including, though not limited to, what cases to prosecute, and that your nephew is a literal crime boss?"

"That is pure slander," Renly snarls, charming mask finally slipping.

Rhaenys grins in the face of his fury. So maybe she can't punch him. She learned to throw verbal barbs at her grandmother's knee. Not even the Lady of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell, could best Princess Carmyn Martell.

"Would you mind repeating that?" Mr. Stark asks, notebook and pen in his hands.

Renly's hazel eyes flash. "I suggest you don't, it could be hazardous to your health."

"Was that a threat?"

Renly smiles at her sweetly. "Of course not. If you will excuse me." He nods to Rhaenys, gives Mr. Stark one last glare, and departs.

Rhaenys watches as he disappears seamlessly into the crowd. If she had a power like Silver or Dracarys she might be less wary of Renly Baratheon, she thinks idly. It isn't like he's all that intimidating. It's his older brothers about whom one has to be worried. Stannis Baratheon, the middle brother, is a battle axe given human form, sharp, deadly and vicious. The eldest brother, Robert Baratheon, is dangerous because of his temper and propensity for rash action, not to mention his son leads the Breakneck Gang as Widowmaker and his in-laws are the rich and powerful Lannisters.

 _If ever there was a syndicate_ , Rhaenys thinks with a sigh.

"You know," Mr. Stark breaks into her musings, "I don't believe I ever got your name."

Rhaenys smiles. "And unfortunately I seem to have completely forgotten yours. Please refresh my memory?"

He smiles and holds out his hand. Rhaenys places her hand in his, expecting a handshake. Instead, he brings her hand up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “Robb Stark. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Heat spreads across Rhaenys’ face that she ignores. “Stark?” she asks. “As in House Stark?”

“The very same. I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

“How can I,” Rhaenys laughs, “when my own brother is of House Stark?”

Robb blinks. “If we are related then I am sorely disappointed.”

_Well, isn’t he the charmer?_

“We’re related by marriage alone, Mr. Stark,” she responds. “My brother is Jon Stark-Targaryen and I am Rhaenys Martell-Targaryen.”

Robb’s smile grows, if that is possible. “You’re Jon’s sister! He talks about you all the time! All good things, I promise.”

“Jon has nothing but good to say about you, too. He’s here somewhere if you want to go find him.”

“I’d rather spend time with you, if it’s all the same,” Robb responds, stepping a little closer. 

Rhaenys laughs. Robb Stark truly is charming. If she never finds Grey Wind she might try dating him. Though the fact he didn’t immediately check his hand to see if he has a Mark tells her he already met his Soulmate. Maybe they’re platonic?

By the time Elia collects Rhaenys to return to the Targaryen Mansion she has spent four hours with Robb Stark, laughing and teasing and commenting on the ridiculous social climbers attempting to curry favor. 

With the same agreement that he not use her name, Rhaenys also passes every scrap of information she has on illicit dealings of certain King’s Landing officials. He’ll have to do the research but _The Daily Planet_ has a reputation so she suspects to be reading exposés in the near future; she always has liked Editor-in-Chief Varys. 

“So,” Elia says, eyeing Rhaenys as she helps unzip Rhaenys’ dress, “you and that handsome young man seemed chummy.”

“His name is Robb Stark,” Rhaenys responds. “He’s Jon’s cousin.”

Elia hums, moving on to the pins in Rhaenys’ hair. “Maybe you should invite him over for dinner some night.”

“I already have a Soulmate,” Rhaenys reminds her mamá.

“ _Es cierto,_ ” Elia agrees mildly, _“pero_ Grey Wind is nowhere to be found. You can’t wait for him forever, _mija_.”

That night, Rhaenys dreams of blue eyes and curly auburn hair. She doesn’t remember if he wore glasses or blue-gray leather.

* * *

**_BOOM!_ **

Rhaenys whirls. Smoke plumes in the distance, dark again the morning sky, the clear mark of a superhero fight. “Shit.”

She dashes into the house, shouting for Daenerys and Aegon as she goes. 

Daenerys appears at the top of the stairs, still wearing her fluffy lavender pajamas. “Rhae, wha-?”

“Get dressed!” Rhaenys shouts without stopping. “Trouble downtown.”

That wakes Daenerys up. She runs down the stairs, following Rhaenys to the living room and through the hidden door behind the fireplace. 

“Where’s Aegon?” Rhaenys asks as she pulls on Curadora’s uniform. 

“He and Jon went out,” Daenerys answers as she settles Dracarys’ cowl on her face. 

“We’ll just have to make do until he gets there.”

Viserys appears behind them. “I’ll get you linked up when you get there,” he says as he settles into his ops center. “Go.”

Curadora grabs the keys for the car and sprints through the portal to the underground caves, Dracarys close on her heels. 

_Thank la madre de rhoyne_ , Curadora thinks emphatically as she puts pedal to the metal and they zoom across King’s Landing, Arianne’s design sending them flying twenty feet above the road, avoiding the worst of the traffic as they weave through downtown. Chaos reigns near Golden Company Bank, pedestrians scattering as Grey Wind goes toe-to-toe with Widowmaker. Curadora slams on the break and they skid to a halt just shy of the worst of the damage. 

“Take the wheel,” she orders Dracarys. Without waiting for a response, she jumps the 6 feet to the ground, landing in a roll before springing to her feet. 

_Silver and Snow ten minutes out,_ Viserys’ voice echoes in her head.

 _Good._ She scans the scene, looking for the rest of the Breakneck Gang. She spots Painmaker loading bricks of gold into the back of a box truck. _Drac!_

 _On it!_ Dracarys swings the car around and starts sending balls of fire raining down on the overgrown oaf. 

Curadora worries at her lip. _Where is The Mountain?_

 _We have him,_ Snow’s voice answers.

Relief washes over her. Curadora is not up to taking on The Mountain. The giant towers over her, his skin impenetrable and his strength greater than ten men. 

_And we brought help!_ Silver sounds far too excited for Curadora’s taste. 

_Who?_

Instead of answering, Viserys sends her a mental image of a huge man wearing a dog-like mask. Above him, a red haired woman in white soars, diving down to harry The Mountain, birdlike.

It takes all of Curadora’s willpower not to faint. The Hound hasn’t been seen in two years, rumors circulating that his brother, The Mountain, killed him. And she knows the woman in white: Siren. 

_But...but_ **_how_** _?_

 _They’re my friends,_ Snow answers. 

Of fucking course. Siren is a northern hero, able to fly and loose piercing percussive blasts with her voice. Of course she would be friends with Snow. Though how they found The Hound is still a mystery.

 _I could use some help here!_ Dracarys shouts. 

Curadora turns. Painmaker has resorted to hurling boulders at Dracarys, forcing the hero to move out of range.

 _Curadora!_ Viserys snaps, all business. _I’ll handle Overwatch. You get to helping people._

 _Right._ Curadora leaves Viserys to coordinate the fight, running to the cadre of ambulances pulling up to the scene. 

As the first responders start pulling people from the danger zone Curadora plants herself in their path, placing hands on any injured they bring her. Bones heal at her touch and wounds close. The first responders smile gratefully as she works, occasionally clapping her on the shoulder. 

So maybe she can’t fight, she can do things no one else can. All the reward she needs is healing the cracked ribs of a toddler and restoring brain function to a mother as her crying daughter holds her hand. 

That last one gives her a splitting headache but she grits her teeth and keeps working. Vaguely she registers the crash and bang of the fight subsiding until all she hears is the wail of sirens and shouts as first responders coordinate cleanup efforts. 

With a sigh, Curadora straightens her shoulders as the last injured civilian rolls past her on a gurney with nothing worse than a broken wrist.

“Good work, Curadora,” says short Irri, a Dothraki transplant from the Great Grass Sea in Essos. Her EMT uniform is dusty but she looks none the worse for wear. She’s the older cousin of Daenerys’ boyfriend Drogo, so Rhaenys knows her fairly well. She’s also friendly with Curadora, like most of the EMS personnel of King’s Landing.

“You, too, Irri,” Curdora says with a weary smile. “I’d better get going.”

“Tell Silver I say hi.” Irri gives her a flirtatious smile. 

Curadora laughs. “Sure, Irri.”

She trots off, going in search of the rest of the supers. She doesn’t find Dracarys, Silver, or Snow, but her eyes catch on blue-gray and she skids to a stop. 

Grey Wind holds a beam up, muscles straining. 

Excitement sends a thrill up her spine. His hair is as dark red and curly as she remembered, biceps bulging deliciously. She can’t see his face but she knows his eyes are bright blue. 

Curadora grins, trotting over. “Hey, you need help?”

Grey Wind half turns. He grins to see her. “Dora!”

“Don’t you _Dora_ me!” Curadora snaps even as she fights a smile. “For one, my name is _Cura_ dora. For two, you and I need to talk.”

Grey Wind’s grin tightens, teeth clenching as his muscles strain to hold up the heavy concrete. “Hey, any chance you can hold this for me?” He jerks his head toward the beam.

“No,” Curadora responds, studying the debris. “In case you haven’t noticed, not everyone has super strength.”

He huffs a laugh. “Then why did you come over here?”

Curadora grins. “To ask why you’re holding a beam.”

“Cops are inside,” he answers, “doing one last sweep. Don’t want them trapped.” He shifts his grip on the beam, turning to prop it on his wide shoulder so he can half face her. “So, how ya been?”

“Frustrated with you,” she tells him. “Any chance you got a Mark last time we met?”

His blue eyes brighten. “Yeah.” He lifts his right arm. “It kinda looks like fire, but purple. Goes up my arm to my shoulder. You?”

“A snowstorm and blue as your eyes.”

“Why my lovely Curadora, I didn’t know you were a poet.”

Something about the way his blue eyes travel over her body sets off her warning bells. But they’re not bad warning bells, not like when she first met that slum lord Peter Baelish. There’s just something very familiar about…

An auburn curl falls over his forehead. Curadora gasps. “I know who you are!”

Grey Wind blinks at her. “Yeah, I know who you are, too.”

Curadora shakes her head. “ _No_ , I mean I know your name. Your real one.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Grey Wind says, suddenly serious. “Wait for me over there.” He jerks his head towards an abandoned yellow car. 

For once, Curadora obeys. Her chest feels lighter somehow. She knows Grey Wind’s identity - knows her Soulmate’s identity and she couldn’t be happier. 

True to his word, Grey Wind joins her ten minutes later. Without a word, he scoops her into his arms. 

“Seriously?”

He grins and launches them into the air. Curadora squeaks, grabbing onto his neck. Far below, King’s Landing becomes a patchwork of streets and buildings, everything blurring together into a pink-brown collage. The air turns colder the higher they go, the wind whipping her hair from its practical braid. 

Curadora expects him to land at the top of one of the King’s Landing skyscrapers, maybe even _The Daily Planet_ tower. Instead, he takes them west, heading for King’s Forest. City streets give way to lush trees and a winding blue line that is the Red River.

Before she realizes, they begin to descend, the trees growing larger. He lands in a small clearing miles from King's Landing, a small waterfall splashing into a shallow pool. The scent of rich earth and green growing things fill the air, replacing the smog of King's Landing. Grey Wind sets her on her feet, stepping away so she can stand.

Curadora straightens, taking a deep breath, tension releasing from her shoulders. "What is this place?"

"It's where I come for peace and quiet," Grey Wind answers. "Reminds me of home. What d'you think?"

Curadora turns, smiling. "I love it."

"Good. So, tell me, Soulmate, who do you think I am?"

“You’re Robb Stark,” Curadora informs him triumphantly.

Robb smiles and he holds his arms aloft, presenting himself. “Indeed I am. But who are you?”

Curadora bites her lip. Obviously she’ll tell him, the question is will she make him work for it?

“Let’s make a game of it,” she says, settling onto a rock beside the shallow pool. “You have twenty questions, to which I will answer yes or no, and at the end, if you guess right, I’ll tell you my name.”

Robb's blue eyes consider her but his mouth twitches in a smile. "Alright." He sits on the rock across from her, arms propped on his knees as he studies her carefully. "First question: I’ve met you before? As yourself, I mean, not your alter ego?"

Curadora nods. "Yes."

"Did we get along?"

"I thought so."

He tilts his head, gaze flicking to the long black braid hanging over her shoulder. "Are you currently wearing a wig?

Curadora laughs. "What?"

Robb shrugs. "Some heroes wear wigs to make it harder to identify them."

"No, I am not wearing a wig."

"Did I meet you as a woman?"

"You ask very strange questions," Curadora observes.

"It's a legitimate question."

"Yes, I am a woman."

Robb nods. "Did you make me laugh?"

She remembers the rich, warm sound of his laugh echoing in the cavernous hall of the Red Keep. "Yes."

"Are you married?"

Curadora shakes her head. "No."

"Are you straight?"

"Yes. Are you?"

Robb flashes a grin. "No, I’m bi."

Curadora tilts her head. "That means we can look at pretty boys together."

"I’m not very good at sharing."

"Neither am I," Curadora shrugs, "but it’s still fun to look."

Robb laughs. "True." He hums thoughtfully, then asks, "Are you from King’s Landing?"

"I was born here, yes."

"Have you ever lived anywhere else?"

"Not permanently," Curadora answers, remembering months spent on Dornish beaches and at the Martell's Water Garden Resort, "just during the summers.

Robb nods. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime."

"Is that a question?"

He barks a laugh. "No. My next question is, do you have a big family?"

Curadora nods. "Yes."

"So do I."

Her mouth twitches. "I know."

Robb's eyes light up. "So it wasn’t just a passing thing. We actually talked?”

"For a while, yes."

"Did you know anything about me before we met?"

"Yes."

He tilts his head. "Did I know anything about you?"

Curadora grins, anticipation fluttering in her stomach. “Yes. And that’s thirteen questions.”

Robb snorts. “Lucky thirteen.”

“Ready to make your guess?”

He shakes his head. “Not quite.” He pauses, thinking, then, "Did we ever date?"

"Not yet."

Robb flashes her a grin. "Do you know how to dance?"

Her eyebrows rise. "That's your question?"

He shrugs. "I like to dance. Do you?"

"Yes, I do, but I'm not very good at it. And that's fifteen."

Robb's eyes narrow. "Did we meet at an event where there was dancing?"

Curadora nods. "Yes."

"Did we dance?"

She shakes her head. "No, but you did ask."

"Was this event in the past two months?"

Curadora grins. _He has it._ "Yes."

Robb stands, holding out his hand. She mirrors the motion, placing her hand in his. His blue eyes bore into hers. "Are you," he begins, voice a warm rumble in his chest that sends tingles down her spine, "Rhaenys Martell-Targaryen?"

"Yes."

Robb looks into her face, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. His hand ghosts up her arm, resting gently on her cheek. His thumb catches on the edge of her mask and he gently lifts the purple material, revealing her face to his hungry eyes. “I hoped it was you.”

Butterflies riot in her stomach and she bites her lip nervously. “You’re not disappointed?”

“Never,” he breathes and presses his lips to hers. 

Fire ignites where their skin meets. All Rhaenys knows is him. One large hand wraps around her waist, pulling her close, the other grips the back of her head, tilting her face up. 

Her lungs burn with a desperate need for oxygen but she doesn't care. All she knows is him.

Finally he pulls back, but only inches. Rhaenys' eyes flutter open. Her head is spinning though whether it's Robb's proximity or the lack of oxygen she doesn't know. She could get used to being kissed like that.

"Wow."

Robb laughs. "Yeah."

"That was…"

"I need to kiss you more often," he agrees.

"Any time you want," Rhaenys informs him, licking her lips.

Robb's eyes track the movement. "Anytime?"

She nods. "Ah huh."

"I'll hold you to that." He moves in again, and this time he nips at her bottom lip, his hand guiding her head so their mouths slot together perfectly.

A soft sigh rises unbidden from her throat. Robb growls. His hand flexes on her waist and suddenly she's walking backwards until her back is pressed against a tree all while his mouth hasn't left hers.

When his lips move away from hers it's to kiss a line of fire down her neck, nipping love bites across her skin. She gasps and whines. "R-Robb, _please…_ "

He presses kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Anything," he rumbles. "Anything you want."

Rhaenys holds him close, hands raking slowly down his back. He kisses back up her neck until his lips find hers again. She could definitely fall in love if he keeps holding and kissing her like this.

When Robb finally pulls away he leans his forehead against hers, breathing heavy. "Any chance you wanna move this someplace more comfortable?"

"Definitely," she whispers, "but not my house. My family will be…" A sudden realization dawns. “I’m going to kill Jon,” she snarls, mood doing a complete reverse.

Robb grimaces. "Can we not talk about your brother, my cousin right now?"

"You're gonna wanna kill him too," Rhaenys informs him.

"Why?"

“He knows you’re Grey Wind and he knows I’m Curadora and he didn’t say anything!”

“Huh,” Robb considers, then nods. “Yep, Jon’s gotta die.”

* * *

“JAEHAERYS RICKARD STARK-TARGARYEN!”

On the couch, Jon freezes, eyes wide as saucers. 

Beside him, Aegon stares. “Dude, what did you _do_?”

“I don’t know!” Jon scrambles to his feet, turning wildly in the direction of Rhaenys’ shout. 

His sister stalks into the living room, Robb trailing behind, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Rhaenys looks decidedly windswept and still wears her purple Curadora uniform though not the mask. Her violet eyes flash dangerously and even the embossed dragon on her chest seems menacing.

“ _You_ ,” she snarls, baring her teeth.

“Oh, you decided to tell him?” Jon asks, distracted by Rhaenys’ revelation of her identity to his cousin. 

“Jon, no,” Aegon groans quietly, “where the fuck is your brain cell?”

Rhaenys’ voice goes quiet, low and vicious as a snake’s hiss. “You knew this _whole time_ and you didn’t _tell us_.”

“It’s a secret identity,” Jon protests, edging away. 

“HE’S MY SOULMATE YOU FUCKWIT!”

“Hey now!” Elia shouts as she rounds the corner. “Language!”

Rhaenys ignores her. “Aegon, prepare to celebrate being the only son. I’m gonna kill him.” She lunges for Jon but he’s already moving, diving behind the couch and scrambling away. 

Rhaenys follows, hands outstretched like claws. 

Jon dashes behind Elia, cowering behind their mamá. “How are you going to kill me when I regenerate?” he asks, foolishly brave, peering over Elia’s shoulder.

“I’m creative,” Rhaenys snarls. “I’ll figure it out.”

“No one is killing anyone,” Elia orders. “Rhaenys, sit down.” 

Rhaenys obeys with a huff, throwing herself onto the couch. Robb sits next to her, pressing his shoulder against hers and joining her to glare at Jon. 

Elia turns on her son. “Jon, what did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“That’s the whole fucking problem!” 

“Rhaenys,” Elia says sharply, “watch your language. I won’t ask you again.”

“I’m an adult,” Rhaenys grumbles, crossing her arms across her chest.

“An adult acting like a toddler,” Aegon snickers.

“I’ll kill you, too,” Rhaenys snaps, “don’t think I won’t. You have no idea how much I want to be an only child.”

“Rhaenys Nymeros Martell-Targaryen you are on very thin ice.”

“Ask him what he did,” Rhaenys demands. “Ask him what he did then you’ll understand.”

Elia raises an eyebrow at her youngest son. "Jon?"

"I don't know!" Jon blinks wide hazel eyes. "She just came in here yelling and wanting to murder me."

"You knew and you didn't say a word!"

"Knew what?" Jon demands, rounding on Rhaenys.

Rhaenys points at Robb. "You knew he was Grey Wind and I'm Curadora but you never said a word!"

Jon frowns. "Was I not supposed to? I mean, secret identities, right?"

"He's my _Soulmate!"_

"You never told me that!"

Rhaenys jumps to her feet. "Yes I did!"

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did!"

"Enough," Elia barks, cutting through the fight. "Rhae, I'm very happy for you, _mija_. Now, take your Soulmate and go upstairs."

Rhaenys bares her teeth at Jon one last time before turning on her heel and storming from the room.

Robb waits a moment then stands, clasping his hands together. “Nice seeing you all again. Jon,” his fixes his cousin with an unfriendly smile, “we’ll have our discussion later.”

Jon watches them disappear with wide, terrified eyes. On the couch, Aegon gives him a sympathetic look. “I’d change my name and head to Essos if I were you, _hermano_.”

“Hate to say it, _mijo_ ,” Elia sighs, “but I agree.” She pats his shoulder. “Good luck.”


End file.
